


What We Always Do

by WanreNolde



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Book 2: Wayward Son, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Spoilers for Book 2: Wayward Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 14:17:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20977289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanreNolde/pseuds/WanreNolde
Summary: I'm still mad about Wayward Son so here's a fix-it of sorts because ow.(I'm so bad at summaries during book hangovers I'm so sorry)





	What We Always Do

Basilton Grimm-Pitch was a Mage of many qualities. On the outside, he seemed cold and mysterious. To his family, he was austere and poised. But with Simon, oh _ Merlin _ with Simon he was the opposite. He was loving, warm, and protective. He loved Simon Snow with every ounce of his being. Every moment with him was what made his world keep spinning. 

Basilton Grimm-Pitch was so many things - a mage, a vampire, a fighter, a _ lover. _He cast spells by day and drank the blood of rats by night. He fought battles with those who were meant to be his enemies and even fell in love with one of them. 

Basilton Grimm-Pitch was all that Simon Snow could ever ask for, and now he was exactly what Simon had to give away. 

In the time they had known each other, they had gone from the worst of enemies to the most adoring lovers. They moved against each other until they moved toward each other, hearts beating in time the whole way through. 

Simon Snow was no longer a mage, simply a Normal who was once a mage. He had wings and a tail and absolutely _ no magick _. He stayed inside all day, struggling to do much of anything. His breath felt as though it was no longer his, nor did his heart. 

If his heart wasn’t his anymore, how could _ Baz _ be his anymore?

Simon Snow was a broken man, war-torn and shattered. He knew nothing of normalcy, nothing of a life without magick. He knew _ nothing _.

The day Simon decided to end things with Baz was the worst day of his life. He was in his usual position, flush against the couch with a cider in his right hand and the TV remote in his left. Baz was in the bedroom, doing Merlin-knows-what. Penny was at her parents’ for the week, working on some new theory. 

Simon was repeating the words in his head, trying to figure out exactly what to say. Once he had it, he peeled himself away from the couch, licking his dry, cracked lips as he stood. They tasted of cider.

Baz was at his desk, a pile of tattered books surrounding him and a notebook in front of him. Simon still didn’t understand why he still refused to use a laptop, choosing instead to write down everything by hand. Baz’s violin was propped against a pillow on the bed - _ their _bed. 

As Simon entered the room, blond curls bobbing around atop his head, Baz looked up. Simon didn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it before, Baz’s greying features, even less alive than they had ever been. He wondered how long those chiseled features had been such a dull shade of grey. _ I guess as long as I’ve been an awful boyfriend _, he thought, attempting to hold back the tears pressing against his waterline. 

Baz looked shocked, most likely because Simon had actually _ moved _ for once. Simon couldn’t remember the last time he had left the couch. He wondered how it had gotten this bad. Baz looked at him, his usually eloquence lost as he mouthed countless phrases. Simon couldn’t catch any of them.

“Baz I-”

“Simon can-”

They both stopped dead in their tracks as they stared at each other, urging the other to go first. Simon shifted, grasping at straws as he thought of what to say. Baz stood with shaking legs, seemingly losing all the grace and poise of both a vampire _ and _a Pitch. He hesitated for a moment before gently taking hold of Simon’s hand. Silently, he guided him to the bed, moving his violin ever-so-slightly as he made them both lay down. Simon had forgotten how big the bed was. He had forgotten how soft it was. 

“Simon,” Baz whispered. Simon snapped his head to look at him. “Hold me, please.”

Simon’s breath caught in his throat. Baz sounded so vulnerable, so _ devastated _. He sounded like his entire world was crumbling down.

Simon moved his body to face Baz, opening his arms and allowing Baz to place his head on Simon’s chest. He could feel both of their hearts race as they touched for the first time in months. 

“Baz,” Simon spoke, his voice barely audible. Baz shushed him, shaking his head against the blond’s chest.

Simon’s shirt felt wet. He didn’t know why it felt so _ wet _.

His hands moved on their own, making their way through Baz’s dark hair. It wasn’t as soft as it used to be, but Simon reveled in the fact that he was able to do this. It felt like it had before, like this was still _ his Baz _. His shirt was growing even more wet, and Baz was shaking.

Pulling Baz’s face up by the chin, Simon quickly found out _ why _ his shirt was so wet. Basilton Grimm-Pitch was crying. Basilton Grimm-Pitch NEVER cried. 

“Baz?” Simon’s eyebrows scrunched together. Baz looked so broken. “Baz, love, what’s wrong?”

Simon realized he had only ever seen Baz this broken once before, surrounded by fire as they sat in the woods, the moment that would change their lives forever. 

Baz looked floored, his mouth dropping open just the slightest bit, his eyes wide as saucers. 

“Baz?”

Nothing.

“Love?”

“Snow,” Baz spoke, his voice scratchy and dry. “Snow that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘love’ in four months.”

“What?” Simon moved back, his hands falling out of Baz’s hair. “That’s not true. There’s no way that-”

“Simon you haven’t even touched me in three months. You haven’t really _ looked _ at me since last week.”

Simon sat up, hands gripping the hair at the sides of his head. His mouth felt dry as the Sahara. It no longer tasted of apples and spice. He could feel the grease in his hair, the crust in his eyes.

He felt grimey, broken, wrong. 

Baz stared at him, unsure of what to do as Simon came to terms with the observation. His hair hit his shoulders, he reeked of body odor, and his back hunched forward with the weight of a thousand sorrows. Simon Snow was broken.

Baz wanted nothing more than to fix him. 

“Baz I,” Simon broke down, tears streaming down his face, “I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

Baz sat up, slowly raising his hand to run his fingers through Simon’s blond curls. He said nothing, watching as Simon broke. The blond’s shoulders shook as he sobbed uncontrollably. Baz watched as his lover fell apart.

“Simon,” he finally spoke. “Simon it’s okay. Hush, love. It’s going to be okay. It’s alright, love.”

Baz remembered that night, the night the mage died, the night the humdrum disappeared for good. 

The night Simon lost his magick and, consequently, himself.

Baz remembered the nights after, when Simon would awake with a cry, breathing so heavily Baz thought his lungs might burst. He remembered holding him tightly, so tightly he felt like both of them would break. 

Simon remembered, too. He remembered feeling like his world was falling apart at the seams. He remembered the days spent wondering why he was still alive. He remembered wondering when Baz was going to see him as a failure. He wondered if that had already happened.

“Simon,” Baz whispered, his eyes tear-filled and his mouth dry. “Simon Snow, it is going to be okay.”

“How?” Simon choked back another sob, fiddling with the hands he had placed in his lap. Baz lifted his chin and made the blue-eyed man look him in the eye.

“We do what we always do, Simon.” Baz licked his lips, smiling before bringing Simon in for a salty, tear-filled kiss. They broke away and their eyes met.

“We carry on.”


End file.
